Rich Bitch Downfall Ch. 02

I sat down at the computer and my mind was a bit fuzzy and cloudy as the day was outside. Dark clouds were outside of my home office window and it looked as though wet weather was on the way.

As the computer fired up, I looked outside again as a rumble of thunder shook the house and the rain began to fall. I moved to the window hearing the rain slap against the cut-stone patio like bacon frying in a pan. Little did I know that the ominous clouds on the horizon and the frying bacon would be appropriate analogies of what I was about to see in my e-mail.

As my e-mail account opened I noticed a few e-mails from friends, my daughter, and a few advertisements. It was a few days since I was last in my e-mail and, not being completely tech savvy, at times, tried to avoid the computer.

I scrolled down a bit and saw an e-mail from looked like Westview Country Club but the address did not appear proper. I heard so much about viruses and paid the price last year by opening an innocent e-mail only to have a boatload of unwanted garbage loaded on my pc, explicit adult sites that I had to explain to my husband about my computer illiteracy and face his wrath of being careful about what I opened on e-mail.

I thought about it for a second but clicked on the wcc-admin e-mail and a message with a few attachments were in the e-mail. The message read, "Hi Anne, I thought you should see these. I would like to discard these but we need to be sure how we want dispose of them or should we post them for the club members to look at? Please let me know before Tuesday at noon." It was unsigned and there was no phone number.

Thunder rumbled and the sky illuminated with a streak of lighting foreboding more than just a bad storm.

Odd, but I never had received an e-mail from the country club before. And what needs to be posted for members to see? I was a bit perplexed thinking maybe it was some rummage items for those less fortunate? I have provided volunteer services for the poor and homeless in the past and maybe it had something to do with our club being more socially responsible. But who could be poor if they belonged to Westview?

I clicked on the first attachment. I figured out how to look at attachments a few weeks before when I received a few pictures of my first grandchild. I loved the computer and the wonders of technology.

The attachment box appeared and I clicked on open. It took a few moments and I walked back to the kitchen to get another cup of coffee. I was walking back into the office and looked out the window at the dark sky and watched the rain beat on the bay windows of the home office.

I glanced at the screen expecting to see some old golf carts, clothing or items for a rummage sale.

To my shock and horror I saw what I believed to be me leaning back in a chair by the lockers in the far corner of the women's locker room. My legs were spread and another woman was between my legs.

My face was clearly visible. My closed eyes, my hands in her hair as her face was buried in my pussy. I was in shock.

I clicked back to the e-mail and looked at the other attachments. They were numbered one to five. Four of the five had a .jpg extension with the fifth attachment having an .mpg extension.

I was not sure what .mpg meant so I clicked on that attachment. I grasped my coffee cup searching for some assurance that it was nothing. But how? This happened last Friday? No one was about the club house or the women's locker room. How I asked myself over and over.

The open attachment box appeared and I clicked on 'open'. The computer grinded away and finally a small movie screen appeared. It was the locker room and sound of running water and moaning could be heard in the background. The quality of the video and audio were poor but I could hear some moaning in the background.

The scene abruptly changed to coincide with the first attachment. Even though the scene was from a distance, I could see two people, two women, engaged in oral sex. One woman, me, was sitting on a chair and an unknown woman, Megan, was between my legs licking away at me.

The distance between the camera and the women evaporated as the image became more in focus and closer. My face could be clearly seen, biting my lip, my head thrown back in ecstasy as I was cumming.

I sat in the leather chair staring at the computer screen. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Lighting illuminated the room with every crack. The rain continued to pour onto the cut\ stones outside the slightly opened window. The storm increased in its intensity. So did the e-mail.

The dark clouds and lighting foretold of some ominous events on the horizon. The rain hitting the cut stone on the patio sounded like bacon frying in a pan. The bacon frying on my computer was going to be my ass if Rick ever found out about this escapade or last New Years crash.

Ok, be rational I said to myself. Who would have done such a voyeuristic thing? Why anonymous? Oh my God! Today was Tuesday and noon was about two hours away! Would they be posted in a little more than two hours?

I was puzzled as to how to respond. There was no name, no phone and I dare not call Shirley, the club business manager, and ask about the e-mail when I did not know if she sent it or had anything to do with this! Ugh!

Being the 55, post-menopausal, bottle-blond, it finally dawned on me that I could hit reply button and see what happened.

I went back to the e-mail and opened the other three attachments. The second attachment showed me sitting on the chair spread and rubbing my breasts. Megan's leg was off to the right but there were no names or faces on the leg.

The third attachment showed me fingering another woman's pussy but only my full body and face was visible.

The fourth attachment showed two women walking out of the shower. My face and complete body was clearly visible. Megan once again was an anonymous figure in the photos.

All in all, it appeared that someone made sure that I was clearly visible and utterly exposed!

I went to the kitchen and grabbed another coffee and added a double of Bailey's to the coffee. My hands shook as I tried to figure out what to do. Call Megan? I have not seen or heard from Megan since Sunday and she mentioned nothing to me about an e-mail. I checked the date of the e-mail and it was dated last Friday.

I returned to the office and looked at the pictures again and noticed the clock on the computer screen said 11:15 AM. I needed to do something or those pictures would be posted at the club.

My answer for a course of action was presented to me when computer chimed and it said I had a new e-mail.

I closed the e-mail and saw it was from wcc-admin. The e-mail subject was Hi, Hope You Are...

I clicked on the e-mail and message continued from the subject line. "...feeling the pain of the pleasure you received in the woman's locker room last Thursday. You are very photogenic and your video will do well promoting my website of rich bitches of the country club set. At 12:01 this afternoon, the video will be posted on rich-bitches-exposed.com and e-mails will be sent to the Westview membership offering them a free trial membership. I expect a few will recoil in horror and worry if they were also video'ed. A few more will want to join and a few more possibly may want to hire you for parties!"

The e-mail continued. "I trust that you have seen Friday's e-mail and the pictures and the edited video. Yes, there is much more to the video."

I sat back in the chair deflated but continued to read the e-mail my hands shaking as I scrolled further down the message.

"If you want to avoid public exposure, the humiliation, and expulsion from the club, it is in your best interest to reply to this e-mail immediately. If you chose not to respond, watch your e-mail at 12:01 PM. Remember, Rick does so enjoy the club environment and it would be a pity if he also lost his club privileges."

It was unsigned.

I sat in the chair with the deafening silence of house and the storm around me. My bacon was definitely going to be fried.

I drained the last of my second Bailey's coffee. The Irish cream whiskey giving me some courage and I convinced myself that nothing would come of anything at 12:01 PM.

The ping of the computer indicated that I had a new e-mail. It was 12:02 PM. I checked my e-mail and sure enough it was from wcc-admin.

I scrambled for the mouse and clicked on the open mail button. The darn thing could not open fast enough for me.

Finally it opened and I noticed the message subject was "Last Chance". I clicked on the attachment and saw a picture of me sitting spread wide in the chair in the locker room with my hand buried deep in my pussy. My face was clearly visible and the picture was cropped removing Megan from the picture.

She was standing a few inches from me.

Tears ran down my face. Every nerve ending was sending a signal to my brain to do something. But what?

As in a fog or trance, I clicked on reply. My hand moved the mouse, the arrow found the box labeled reply, and computer screen changed to an e-mail from annec to wcc-admin.

My fingers moved across the keyboard. My mind was shut down. I read the words my fingers typed. "Ok, you made your point. Very funny. Now, what do you want and please stop harassing me!"

I left it unsigned. I then hit reply.

The screen returned to my inbox. I got up and made another Bailey's and returned to computer.

A reply was waiting for me.

I felt the blood drain from my face and hands. My body shook violently as I tried to grab the mouse. I clicked on the e-mail and began to read its contents.

"A wise course of action Anne." I hated how this anonymous person used my first name. I continued reading the e-mail.

"I have not even started with you and I did find your exploits in the locker room to be more than funny! I so enjoyed your oral capabilities and what you can do with your tongue! "

"What do I want? Well, that question will be answered this evening. Meet me at the Starbucks on King. Order a latte and sit at a table facing the street. After ten minutes, proceed to the ladies room and enter. Do not lock the door."

The last paragraph concluded with another slap to my face and dignity. The e-mail closed with, "Better make the latte non fat. I do believe you are very shapely for a woman of your age but a moment on the lips, forever on the hips! And the last thing a girl needs is more cellulite! See you tonight at 8."

This e-mail was signed as "Mistress".

Mistress? Mistress who? I looked at the clock and it was a little past one. I sat there shaking but this time I drank the Bailey's straight from the bottle. What to do for the next seven hours.